Barkest America

Lucius Beebe, U.S. journalism's most rococo columnist, went digging for facts in Colorado, after his fashion. To mine material for another nostalgic book about his hobby, railroads, locomotive-loco Lucius, assisted only by his Manhattan roommate, a photographer, and a small, hardy retinue, braved narrow-gauge trails in a private railroad car (b. circa 1870). Like the Englishman in the jungle, Prospector Beebe dutifully dressed for dinner every night. The grub: caviar, foie gras, pheasant, champagne.

Randolph Churchill, plump columnist-son of Winston, readied himself for a more Spartan venture than Beebe's. He was about to make a winter-long lecture tour of the U.S., in a new Lincoln, with one chauffeur and one secretary. Interviewed in Manhattan,. Journalist Churchill refused to comment on Elliott Roosevelt's observation (in As He Saw It) that "for young Churchill, conversation is strictly a unilateral operation." He also refused to comment on Sister Mary's rumored engagement to Belgium's Prince Charles. Said Journalist Churchill: "It's nobody's business. ... I think there should be five freedoms--Freedom from the Press. ... I know I'm fighting a losing battle against the press; but I like to feel I'm doing my little bit."

Something in the Air

Here & there, it somehow seemed more like spring than fall:

James E. Folsom of Alabama, who stands 6 ft. 8 in. and claims to have kissed 50,000 women during his recent campaign for the governorship, paid a visit to Hollywood, proudly demonstrated his politicking (see cut).

Senator H. Alexander Smith, 66, running for re-election in New Jersey, said he would campaign this week by helicopter.

Back for More

Buster Keaton was about to be a comedy star again, for one picture at the very least. The sad-eyed Great Stone Face of the silents was making his latest comeback try in Mexico where audiences prefer their comedians pathetic. Turned 51 last week, Keaton had just finished his first Mexican picture, hoped soon to make another. He looked about the same as ever, and so did the picture: The Modern Bluebeard, or My Trip to the Moon. It had everything from life-adrift-at-sea to mistaken identity and ordeal by cops.

Emmy Sonnemann also made a try at a theatrical comeback, but it was no go. Actress Emmy--who shot to fame by becoming Frau Hermann Goering--got no further than a denazification board, which turned down her application to get back into show business.

The Way It Is

Manuel Rodriguez, 28, sensational Spanish matador known to the world's aficionados as Manolete, stopped in Manhattan en route to Peru for the winter season, cleared up a little something for a local reporter. What right had he to the title, "the foremost bullfighter"? asked the reporter. "I am the most graceful," explained Manolete carefully, "the most artistic, the most technical, and the most courageous bullfighter."

Beatrice Lillie was robbed of $12,000 worth of clothes and jewelry in London. The thieves could keep it all "and no questions asked," said Comedienne Lillie, if they just returned an uncut sapphire that had belonged to her only son, Sir Robert Peel, killed in the war. Soon she got a sapphire in the mail from a sympathetic stranger ("touching and charming," said the actress), but it wasn't the sapphire.

Movers & Shakers

George Bernard Shaw's thought for the week: the Nazi war criminals were just "extremely ordinary men" given too much power--and: "Is it fair to give common fellows power that would turn the heads of all but the ablest five percent of the population . . . and hang them because they behaved like Torquemada . . .? Ought we not rather hang ourselves for being such fools?"

Maurice Maeterlinck, in pain with a broken arm after a trip over a rug in his Manhattan apartment, was still sticking to his last at 84. Except for the arm, the author of The Blue Bird was fine, reported his wife. What was he currently engaged in? "Planning happiness."

Margery Sharp, British author of the cinematized Cluny Brown, flew to the U.S. for a month's vacation, speculated on the casting of her soon-to-be-cinematized Britannia Mews. Who should play the disreputable Mrs. Mounsey, "the Sow" ("Her person was obscene . . . she sagged with fat . . .")? Novelist Sharp had an idea: "Charles Laughton . . . would be simply marvelous, but I don't suppose that would be quite proper, would it?"

E. Arnot Robertson, BBC film critic and prestigious woman novelist (Four Frightened People, Three Came Unarmed), took arms against MGM, which had urged BBC to get rid of her because her criticisms were "... harmful to the film industry." Her counterattack: a suit for "reasonable" damages, and a demand for an unqualified apology.

Alexandra Dumas (The Three Musketeers), who published some 1,200 books over his own name (he ran the first ghostwriting factory), seemed to be not quite all published yet. Turned up in Paris: the manuscript of an unpublished novel (The Red Sphinx) about Cardinal Richelieu.

Highland Fling

General Dwight D. Elsenhower, Wife Mamie, and Son (Captain) John had a weekend to remember. In Scotland it rained tributes and rain alternately and simultaneously, and the wind from the bagpipes blew strong and steady.

In Edinburgh, the General got the freedom of the city, and an honorary Doctor of Laws degree from the University. He stood as godfather at the christening of infant Richard Seton Tedder, son of Air Chief Marshal Lord Tedder and his Lady, but refused to hold the child for photographers ("I might drop him!"). Bagpipes welcomed the Eisenhowers to Maybole, where the General was made a freeman and burgess. Ike, who had got in a little shooting on the moors, put the townsfolk at ease: "The poachers among you will find just as many birds left as before I came." Bagpipes piped him on his way to Balmoral Castle. The Eisenhowers' hosts there: George VI and Queen Elizabeth.

The Royal Family and the Eisenhowers had hot scones and tea in the drawing room, and then the King led the way for a hike around the place. Dinner was at 8; grouse from the royal moors was seryed, and the guests dined to the squeal of the King's pipers. Everybody danced reels and flings that night in the castle ballroom, and Captain John danced with Princesses Elizabeth and Margaret Rose. Margaret got Ike's autograph before he left.

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